


Take you like a drug/I taste you on my tongue

by Neyiea



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26162644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: Jeremiah is instantly struck by the sight of him. The slightest suggestion of interest in his generators makes something warm and enamoured bloom swiftly in the depths of Jeremiah’s chest. Infatuation sets in the moment Bruce calls his work ‘fascinating’ and only strengthens when Bruce tells him ‘you have a brilliant mind’.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 37
Kudos: 212





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have approximately zero self control so when I wrote daddy kink for Valeyne I knew I would have to do it for Wayleska, too. 
> 
> I sort of ignore canon (ha _ha_ , as always, what a surprise) so if you want to think of this as no-spray Jeremiah OR Jeremiah was sprayed but Bruce just makes him so horny that he cannot think about bombs and mazes because he'd rather think about Bruce, you can go for either.
> 
> Title from Daddy Issues by The Neighbourhood
> 
> This fic has been translated into Russian and can be found here:  
> https://ficbook.net/readfic/9878888/25424433

Jeremiah watches the news, so he knows why someone’s decided to knock on his door for the second time over the course of a week when he’s previously managed to go for months, if not years, at a time without his bunker being approached by anyone. He scoffs at the sight of Detective Gordon on one of his screens although he does, eventually, unlock his front door. 

He’s full of disdain and derision, and he has zero plans to hide it during this unwelcome visit.

He fixes his tie and his tie pin as he stews in his own loathing, intent on looking as put together as he possibly can when the Detective arrives. Appearance, when one had to appear at all, was a key to obtaining and retaining respect and making people think that you were formidable. Or so he’d found when he was still living in the outside world. Dressing his age had never commanded the esteem from his peers that he had rightfully earned by being better than them in every conceivable way. Dressing well and embracing formal mannerisms had given him a mature veneer that had allowed him to be, for the most part, either left alone or revered as the prodigy that he obviously was. 

Jeremiah may be full of nerves, but if his hair is neat and his glasses are on straight and he holds himself with all of the confidence and control that he has amassed over time then the GCPD won’t have any weak spots to target. Jeremiah might be younger than Detective Gordon, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to allow himself to be bossed around as if he is naught but a child, doomed to follow along with the whims of an adult. 

Jeremiah is put together. Jeremiah is in charge. Jeremiah is going to say ‘no’ to the obviously hairbrained scheme that is about to be presented to him as the only option when Jeremiah really could not care any less if other people are being killed by his brother as long as he stays alive.

He purses his lips, crosses his legs at the ankles, and waits for the knock to sound out against his office door. 

“Come in,” he commands sharply. 

Jim Gordon walks in along with two police officers and another man in a suit that Jeremiah doesn’t recognize but is unimpressed with on principle, and then…

Dark, wide eyes glancing around his office with open curiosity, a soft face with expressive features that could easily convey a wide variety of emotions with grace, a mouth that deserved, nay, demanded to by plied with kisses. Jeremiah is so struck by the sight of him that it takes his mind several long seconds to catch up with who the teenager walking into Jeremiah’s private space like some kind of dream wrapped up in a black coat actually is. 

Bruce Wayne, the other person wanted by his brother. 

Jeremiah tears his gaze away from him before anyone can catch him staring, heart tripping in his chest.

“Detective,” he greets coolly, though not as unaffected as he would have liked, his strong foundation briefly rocked by the sight of someone who is very much his type.

“Mister Valeska,” Gordon greets back, sounding as if he wishes he were anywhere but here.

Well, that makes two of them. But Gordon needs him, not the other way around, and Jeremiah is not going to let him forget it. 

Jeremiah’s eyes flick, without him really meaning to, over to the face of Bruce Wayne who is still looking around as if he would be content to stay down here for hours, days, weeks, just to memorize every single thing that Jeremiah has pinned up to his walls and on display. Jeremiah has to turn away from the sight of him, lest his inward thoughts start showing on his face when there are other people watching him intently for weaknesses that can be exploited. 

“I watch the news. I know why you’re here Mister Gordon,” he says as he pours himself a drink. “And you must be out of your mind if you think I’m going to be led like a lamb to slaughter.”

“I understand your concern,” Gordon tells him, as if Jeremiah cares. “But your brother doesn’t bluff. If we ignore his demands there’s no telling what he might do.”

Jeremiah knows what he might do, but Jeremiah is also currently safe underground and he’d like to stay that way. 

Jeremiah also can’t help but realize that as everyone is talking Bruce is wandering further into his domain, closer to him.

“If you and Bruce—” Jeremiah’s mind trips for a moment; him and Bruce. “—can get within a few feet of him.” Jeremiah’s mind stops tripping and he scoffs. “It will disable his remote. He’ll be a sitting duck. Our snipers can take it from there.”

“For God’s sake, Gordon, you have to know what he wants.” Bruce is circling around, Bruce is practically right behind him. “To murder us both on live television.” 

The Detective’s face gives it all away. He knows exactly what it is that he’s asking Jeremiah to do. Jeremiah won’t. Jeremiah refuses. 

“Mister Valeska.”

He feels a sudden stab of heat at the sound of his own name. He turns and sees a hand being offered out to him.

“I’m Bruce Wayne.” Those dark, wide eyes meet his. Jeremiah feels even more struck now that he’s able to take in the sight of him from up close. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he says as he takes the proffered hand in his own. Soft skin, a firm grip, those doe eyes looking right at him. Jeremiah has to fight down the urge to make a bold declaration of interest, because now is certainly not the time for it. “I wish the circumstances were better.”

Him and Bruce alone; no police, no brother rampaging outside, nothing to distract them from getting to know each other a little better.

“May I ask what it is you’ve been working on?”

The slightest suggestion of interest in his generators makes something warm and enamoured bloom swiftly in the depths of Jeremiah’s chest. Infatuation sets in the moment Bruce calls his work ‘fascinating’ and only strengthens when Bruce tells him ‘you have a brilliant mind’.

Mister Valeska, Mister Valeska, Mister Valeska, he imagines Bruce’s voice calling, then the words morph into something not entirely unexpected. Daddy, daddy, daddy.

Jeremiah needs him. Jeremiah has to have him. Jeremiah is going to hold onto the boy who looked up at him with stars in his eyes as he spoke so eloquently about standing up to terror and he’s going to see what it takes to make Bruce fall apart under his hands.

Jeremiah can’t let him go off to face Jerome alone. 

x-x-x

They survive, if not by the skin of their teeth, and Jeremiah would be content to never leave his bunker or let anyone else inside of it ever again, except—

“Mister Valeska.”

A gentle hand is offered to him a second time.

His tongue feels weighted in his mouth and his heart is skipping in his chest and Jeremiah has never felt this level of attraction to anyone, ever. And that’s even before Bruce makes his offer of a grant. 

Working with Wayne Enterprises.

Working with Bruce.

Better circumstances; no police, no brother rampaging outside, nothing to distract them from getting to know each other a little better. Him and Bruce in his office. Him and Bruce growing closer.

His mind is spinning so hard that he feels lightheaded—Mister Valeska, Mister Valeska, daddy, daddy, daddy—and he can hardly even verbally respond to Bruce’s offer, so he just nods and says, “thank you,” before turning his back and hoping that the heat in his cheeks is invisible in the dimness of the grimy city lights. 

Jeremiah is simply too struck, today, to be as composed as he usually is. Too high strung after so many unwanted encounters and unforeseen danger and an unexpected introduction with a beautiful boy that Jeremiah had almost immediately wanted all for himself. He’ll be back to normal when they cross paths again; level-headed and controlled. He’ll showcase his intelligence and his practicality and just how good he is at working with his hands. He’ll exhibit the traits that he is most proud of.

Jeremiah will show Bruce just how capable he is, subtly proving himself to be an excellent partner in all aspects of life. And then once Bruce was assured of Jeremiah’s interest and capability he would take such painstaking, smitten measures to take care of Bruce the way that Bruce deserved to be taken care of. 

Someone like Bruce—though he was brave and good and tender-hearted and obviously wanted to help so badly—should have never had to be led like a lamb to slaughter. He should have been protected, kept safe, doted on and guarded fiercely. 

The next time they cross paths, Jeremiah is going to be his usual self.

But that’s not exactly what ends up happening. 

x-x-x

So maybe he’d underestimated the depth of his feelings, or maybe he’d thought that the racing of his heart would settle to something manageable when he had advanced notice about Bruce entering into his space, but when Bruce drops by with paperwork for the grant Jeremiah is not nearly as in control as he’d like to be.

It had been easy to be composed in the scenarios that had flickered into his mind since the moment Bruce had texted him to ask if he could drop by; suave, sophisticated, and clever. Able to take Bruce’s hand in his own for a handshake and listen to Bruce call him ‘Mister Valeska’ without feeling overcome by too many fluttering, hot emotions to name.

He starts off strong, on the opposite side of the room, but it’s like the closer Bruce steps towards him the weaker in the knees Jeremiah feels. And then when Bruce does offer his hand, saying, “It’s nice to see you again, Mister Valeska,” Jeremiah can hardly say, “Likewise,” in return without his voice wavering. 

Sitting at his desk and going through the papers, trying not to look up at Bruce too often too obviously, allows him to feel a little more like himself for a short while. Work was work, after all, and Jeremiah was nothing if not diligent when it came to everything related to his vocation.

Then, of course, Bruce’s fingers brush against his own as he passes over a pen for Jeremiah to sign the contract, and Jeremiah’s mind starts to spin at the electric undercurrent of the touch. He opens his mouth to say something casual which will hopefully make Bruce smile at him, but Bruce smiles at him without Jeremiah needing to say anything at all and his breath gets caught in his throat so abruptly that he chokes. 

“Are you alright,” Bruce asks, eyebrows furrowing with concern. 

What a precious, pretty boy he is.

“I’m fine,” he lies, twisting his head and fake coughing into the crook of his elbow before staring down at the paper in front of him until the urge to fist a hand into Bruce’s coat and reel him down for a kiss subsides. Bruce deserves a proper courting, Jeremiah can’t be hasty. He needs to put in effort so that Bruce can be sure that Jeremiah is worth his time and attention and affection. 

He signs and dates the contract, and Bruce takes the pen back from him to sign and date as the witness.

He smiles at Jeremiah again as he leans over the desk to gather the papers up into his file-folder.

“I’ll text sometime next week after this has all been sorted through,” he says, looking at Jeremiah from underneath his eyelashes. “I look forward to working with you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Jeremiah barely manages, fisting his hands in his slacks because if he doesn’t he thinks he might actually try to dig them into Bruce’s hair. And then, as if his composure hasn’t already eroded away into near non-existence, before Bruce leaves the office he looks over his shoulder one last time and says,

“Thank you, Mister Valeska.”

Jeremiah doesn’t breathe until the door closes with a click behind him.

He thinks about Bruce, such a precious darling, smiling at him and touching him and leaning over his desk and looking at him from underneath his eyelashes and—

—Mister Valeska, Mister Valeska, daddy, daddy, thank you, thank you—

—his hands frantically undo his belt and the zipper of his slacks so that he can roughly palm himself through his underwear.

Bruce on his knees, his hands settled delicately on Jeremiah’s thighs. Bruce’s lovely mouth, swollen and red and open. Bruce looking up at him from under his eyelashes, flushing prettily as he swallows Jeremiah’s come. Bruce saying, soft and adoring, “Thank you, Mister Valeska.”

Jeremiah comes before he even has a chance to slip a hand into his underwear. 

x-x-x

It seems to be the start of a routine. Bruce drops by to check on his progress and act as a mediator between Jeremiah and Wayne Enterprises and offer any help that Jeremiah might need, and Jeremiah works hard and does his job precisely as he’s meant to but he also thinks about how much he’d like to settle his hands on Bruce’s waist and lift Bruce up onto his desk and step between Bruce’s spreading legs and kiss Bruce until they’re both breathless and aching and—

“Mister Valeska?”

Jeremiah is pretty sure this is what being driven crazy feels like, because whenever Bruce calls him that his thoughts start to rapidly spin into fantasies and it’s getting more and more difficult to pretend that he’s unaffected by it.

“You can call me Jeremiah,” he says, looking down at a blueprint because he’s not sure what he’ll do if he looks up at Bruce’s face. Declare his everlasting love, probably. “I think we know each other well enough by now to forgo the formality.”

At least until they got to a point where Jeremiah had free reign to hold Bruce and kiss Bruce and wrap his dextrous fingers around Bruce’s undoubtedly pretty cock and had the nerve to tell him that maybe he’d occasionally like to be called—

“Jeremiah,” Bruce says softly, as if he’s testing the name out on his tongue, and Jeremiah cannot resist looking up at him after hearing it. Bruce smiles one of his rare smiles, looking Jeremiah directly in the eyes. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I slip up and occasionally call you ‘Mister Valeska’ before ‘Jeremiah’ sticks in my head.”

Jeremiah swallows heavily and nods once, eyes darting back down, fingers clenching around his pen. 

“All is forgiven in advance,” he says, and he sounds composed, but inwardly he’s reeling. 

He’s actually able to wait until Bruce has left the bunker before touching himself, this time. 

x-x-x

It turns out that having Bruce call him by his first name does not actually lessen the urge to shower him with kisses and hold him tenderly. Jeremiah can focus on his work, and he is composed and controlled when he’s working, but as soon as Bruce brings attention to himself in nearly any way… 

Jeremiah never stands a chance. 

Precious boy, Jeremiah will think as he touches himself. My precious darling. 

x-x-x

He’d been sitting at his desk today, scribbling something out in a notebook, and Bruce had leaned over to take a look and Jeremiah had felt Bruce’s breath softly caress his skin. He’d turned, happy shock flooding him abruptly at their proximity, and before Bruce had backed up Jeremiah could have sworn that his lips brushed against Bruce’s cheek.

“Sorry,” Bruce apologizes, eyes darting away shyly, as if Jeremiah hasn’t dreamt about being that close to him ever since they’d first met. He’s pretty sure his lips are tingling from the split-second of barely-there pressure. “I didn’t realize I’d gotten so close.”

Jeremiah wants him that close again. Jeremiah wants him closer. Jeremiah wants Bruce in his arms and in his lap and over his desk and in his bed and against every office wall and—

“It’s getting late,” Bruce says, “I should be going.”

Jeremiah bites his tongue to keep himself from saying anything desperate. He gets up to walk Bruce to the office door, even though it’s only a few paces away, and when he settles behind his desk again, alone, he covers his face with his hands and sighs. 

This isn’t going as planned at all; he’s normal whenever he’s working, and Bruce has thankfully been around enough times to watch Jeremiah when he’s fully immersed in his element, but he can’t seem to control himself at all when Bruce is at the forefront of his mind. 

He’s completely and utterly besotted; lovesick in the most romantic way. 

And also hornier than he has ever been in his entire life. Not even his teenaged years were anything like this.

He touches himself idly through his pants, because apparently that’s what he’s been reduced to, now. He shuts his eyes and presses his lips together, dreaming of what the pressure of Bruce’s lovely mouth would feel like against his own.

Wondering what might have happened if Bruce had been even closer, and if their lips had brushed when Jeremiah turned.

Wondering if Bruce had leaned so close to him on purpose. 

It’s that thought—Bruce doing literally anything to Jeremiah on purpose; touching or kissing or sucking his cock or swallowing his come and saying ‘thank you, Mister Valeska’—that spurs him on to the point where he gives up on any pretense and undoes his slacks. Lately he’s masturbated in his office just as much as in his bedroom, and he’s entirely sure that it’s because spending time with Bruce in here winds him so tightly that his self-control is at an all-time-low. 

He’s only just gotten started when there’s a knock on his office door.

“Jeremiah? I forgot my phone.”

Jeremiah, already dizzy with want, can feel his cock twitch in his hand at the unexpected but beloved sound of Bruce’s voice.

“Come in,” Jeremiah wheezes, hands abruptly folding together on the desk in front of him. He looks down at his writing in an attempt to hide the flush on his face as Bruce walks inside, casual as can be, no idea that concealed behind the desk Jeremiah’s cock is hard and exposed. 

Jeremiah’s fingers clench into each other as he listens to Bruce rustle around in search of his phone, staring intently but unseeing at his notes. Bruce makes a soft, pleased sounding ‘ah’ when he finds what he came back for, and Jeremiah’s mind predictably starts to spin.

—Ah, ah, Jeremiah. Ah, ah, Mister Valeska. Ah, ah, daddy, please, please, thank you—

He glances up, just to watch Bruce walk out the door again, only to find Bruce looking in his direction. 

Their eyes meet. Bruce smiles.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mister Valeska.”

As soon as Bruce is gone from the bunker, and Jeremiah actually watches the monitors to make sure he can’t circle back unexpectedly a second time, Jeremiah rests his forehead on his desk and curls his fingers around himself.

“Bruce,” he calls breathlessly as he fists his cock and imagines a smaller hand in place of his own. Then he imagines Bruce’s pretty dick in his fist and he shudders, heart skipping, heat lighting him up from the inside. “Bruce.” What would Bruce feel like in his hand? What would Bruce look like when he came because of Jeremiah? What would it feel like to be the one responsible for giving him pleasure? “My precious, darling boy. I’d take such good care of you.”

Please let me take care of you.

x-x-x

Bruce is sitting on the edge of his desk, which is an infrequent but not unheard of action which habitually makes Jeremiah want to fall to his knees before him and please Bruce until Bruce is overwhelmed and crying, so he already has that to inwardly deal with. But Bruce is also looking up at him from under his eyelashes and biting his lip as if deep in thought or deeply interested by something. His gaze trails over Jeremiah’s face, and Jeremiah feels very much as if he’s been laid completely bare and can only hope that he hasn’t been found wanting. 

Then the corner of Bruce’s lips quirks upwards in a small, precious smile. Then Bruce calls him, “Mister Valeska.” 

It’s been two weeks since he’d last slipped up and called him that.

“Yes, Bruce?” It’s a miracle that his voice doesn’t crack. 

Bruce slips off of the desk, Bruce’s smile widens, Bruce reaches into his space to straighten Jeremiah’s tie. 

“I like your tie-pin,” he says, and the tone isn’t flirty or coy, but—

Bruce is touching him. On purpose. 

“Thank you,” Jeremiah manages, ears ringing with the sound of his rapid heartbeat. 

Bruce’s hands pull away from him, and Jeremiah feels the loss of contact deep in his bones. 

“Same time tomorrow?”

Bruce touching him, touching him, touching him, touching him—

“Same time tomorrow.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

x-x-x

“We’re almost ready for the first test,” Jeremiah says, nearly breathless with an excitement that actually has to do with his work and not only the person who’s standing next to him. “I need to look over a few more things to finalize it, but it’s almost there, Bruce. We’re almost there.”

“Jeremiah,” Bruce starts, so happy and full of wonder that Jeremiah’s heart twinges in his chest. “I can’t believe how quickly it’s all fallen into place. I thought it would take so much longer.”

It’s because I’ve had you as a muse, precious darling, Jeremiah thinks, unable to help himself. He feels so full of restless, elated energy. He’s not sure this moment could get any better, unless of course he finally gained enough composure and charm to sweep Bruce off of his feet, but that was about as unlikely to happen as it had always been.

Bruce’s hand lays on his elbow and Jeremiah jolts at the contact, eyes immediately swinging in his direction. 

Bruce is looking up at him, timid, biting his lower lip.

“Mister Valeska,” he says lowly, voice practically a whisper.

—Mister Valeska, daddy, daddy, please, please, kiss me—

“Kiss me?”

Jeremiah is pretty sure his heart actually stops beating for a moment, because he could have sworn that when Bruce’s mouth moved the words he spoke matched the words in Jeremiah’s head, which made absolutely zero sense. 

“I—I’m sorry.” Even the thought of it is making him burn. He swallows dryly. “I don’t think I caught that?”

He watches, more enamoured than ever before, as Bruce’s cheeks begin to turn pink.

“Kiss me,” Bruce whispers again, looking shy and soft but refusing to break eye contact. “Please?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has Bruce figured out the 'Mister Valeska' thing? Yes. Does he use it to his advantage? Yes. That's my boy. Drive this man crazy, Bruce, have at it, he loves it.

“Kiss me, please?”

Jeremiah has never moved so fast in his entire life.

His hands swiftly cup Bruce’s face and he leans in, fervently eager and desperately hot. He slides their lips together and attempts to get closer, closer, and for each little step forward he takes Bruce takes one step back, but Bruce’s hands also come up to settle over top of his instead of pushing him away so instead of stopping Jeremiah follows, follows, until Bruce abruptly comes to a halt because Jeremiah’s desk is directly behind him. 

He feels Bruce’s lips part. He feels Bruce’s tongue skim across his lower lip, barely there but breathtaking all the same. Bruce’s hands slide over his wrists, down his forearms, up to his shoulders. Bruce tilts his head and sighs happily into the kiss and Jeremiah is absolutely sure that he wants to give him everything that he deserves; devoted love and open adoration and tender care and many, many, many shivering, shuddering, toe curling orgasms. One of his hands drags away from Bruce’s cheek to slide into his hair, curling his fingers into the soft strands and listening, absolutely smitten, as Bruce’s breath hitches.

“Jeremiah,” Bruce murmurs against his mouth, arms circling around Jeremiah’s shoulders. Jeremiah tries to memorize the feel of Bruce’s lips saying his name. The hand that had remained on Bruce’s cheeks begins to drag down, settling possessively against the curve of his lower back in order to drag him that little bit closer as Jeremiah edges one foot forward to slot it between Bruce’s, the toe of his shoe hitting the desk. Bruce says his name again, and his time before his mouth falls shut Jeremiah darts his tongue out to slide it along the center of his lips. His mind is flickering with so many ideas; lift Bruce up onto his desk and get him out of his shirt so that Jeremiah can nip a trail along his collarbones, fall to his knees before him and undo his pants so that Jeremiah can kiss his tummy and hipbones before dragging his tongue against hardening flesh, bend his knee and slide his thigh even further between Bruce’s legs and kiss him until Bruce is rocking desperately against him, slip his hand between them so that he can finally discover what Bruce’s pretty cock would feel like against his fingers. Each idea makes him successively dizzier, as if he’s about to swoon, and through it all Bruce continues to kiss him. 

Perhaps Jeremiah hadn’t needed to be totally suave and in control to sweep Bruce off of his feet after all, which he doesn’t entirely understand, but he’s certainly not complaining if Bruce liked how stunned Jeremiah tended to be around him.

“Bruce, Bruce.” He feels utterly drunk. He’s getting hard. He hopes that Bruce is getting hard, too. “Can I touch you, darling?”

Bruce shudders against him, and Jeremiah isn’t sure if it’s because of the question or the term of endearment or both, but he wants it to happen again, so.

“I’d love to touch you, darling, can I? I promise I’ll be gentle. You can tell me if it’s too much.”

“Okay,” Bruce agrees softly, pulling back. His lips are swollen and his cheeks are flushed and he’s so gorgeous that Jeremiah would think he’d walked straight out of a dream if he didn’t already know that Bruce was real. “You can touch me.”

If Jeremiah believed in any sort of God he’d probably be thanking them right now.

His hands undo Bruce’s zipper and tug his pants and underwear down until they’re riding low on his hips. His fingertips brush through an entirely new patch of curls as he steels himself, frantic thoughts racing so fast he can’t make anything out except for the one common element between them all.

Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, Bruce—

His hand delves lower, sparks lighting up inside of him as his fingertips graze across skin and Bruce shivers.

“Jeremiah.” Bruce rests his forehead on Jeremiah’s chest, his hands skimming up Jeremiah’s neck and into his hair. “Jeremiah.”

“Is this—” He feels lightheaded. His hand is wrapped around Bruce’s cock. Bruce is hard and warm and he’s perfect, and Jeremiah wishes it were feasible to touch him forever but is willing to make do with touching him as often as possible. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Bruce’s voice is breathy and soft, and Jeremiah is never going to get over this. 

“Precious boy,” he murmurs. “Will you look up at me? I want to see you.” He drags his thumb across the leaking slit and Bruce shudders and jolts before lifting his head. Their eyes lock and it feels like something—a mutual understanding, a deeper attachment, a connection—is snapping into place between them. “Darling boy,” he intones with all the love in his heart. “I’m going to make you come.”

Bruce’s face flushes darker. He licks his lips before his mouth falls open in a soft gasp. His eyelashes flutter prettily against his cheeks. Jeremiah strokes Bruce’s cock and thinks about how much more he wants to give. Anything and everything and all that Bruce has ever wanted. He wants to be enough to fulfil Bruce in every way; friendship and romance and kinship and sex.

Jeremiah is leaking through his underwear by the time he finally—finally—watches Bruce fall apart under his hands. He cannot help but kiss him again afterwards, feeling deep gratitude and deeper love in every brush of their lips.

“Jeremiah, can I—” Bruce hands shakily rest on Jeremiah’s belt. “Can I—”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

As if Jeremiah could ever say no to him. As if Jeremiah hasn’t been dreaming about this since they met.

Delicate, slender fingers wrap around him. “Thank you,” Bruce whispers unsteadily into his neck before adding on, ever quieter, like he’s unsure of the reaction it will bring, “Mister Valeska.”

Jeremiah is almost certain that it is only his two months of excessive masturbation that keep him from coming on the spot, but he’s not able to hold back the needy sound that builds up in his throat.

Bruce kisses his neck; his grip becomes firmer.

“Thank you, Mister Valeska,” he repeats, sweet and confident, and Jeremiah quickly begins to unravel.

Bruce doesn’t touch Jeremiah the way that Jeremiah is used to, but that’s because Bruce is probably touching Jeremiah the way that he touches himself—less desperate and rushed; a slow, steady build that makes Jeremiah’s heart thunder in his chest. Fuck, Jeremiah wants to watch him make himself come. Jeremiah wants to see what he likes the most. Jeremiah wants to know how to give him what he likes the most. 

“You’re making me feel so good, Bruce,” he manages to say somehow, and he leans in to ply Bruce’s mouth with only a small portion of the innumerable kisses that he deserves as he comes in his fist. 

Jeremiah feels content and in love and utterly committed, and he presses a lingering kiss to Bruce’s forehead as Bruce’s hand starts to pull away. When he leans back to gaze upon him Bruce’s eyes are just as awestruck as Jeremiah thinks his were on the day that they’d first met.

“Precious darling,” he utters adoringly. 

Daddy’s going to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. 

x-x-x

Jeremiah isn’t entirely sure how it’s possible, but somehow Bruce is even more beautiful than usual when he’s bathed in the blue light of the generator. And when Bruce walks towards him, eyes shining, expression so openly fascinated, well, Jeremiah cannot help but give in to his yearning urges.

He kisses Bruce, and Bruce kisses him back, and it feels beautiful and right. There’s something about kissing him here; where they first met, where they’ve spent nearly all of their time together, where Jeremiah has fallen deeper and deeper into Bruce until no force would be able to unearth him, that feels full of heartfelt meaning.

“You and I are going to do great things for Gotham,” Bruce tells him as they part, smiling in a tender way that makes Jeremiah long to keep him smiling. 

You’ll do it for Gotham, I’ll do it for you.

“We are.” He kisses Bruce’s forehead, his cheeks, the corner of his mouth. He’d do anything for his precious darling, anything to protect him and keep him safe and happy. “Bruce, you look—you’re so beautiful.” He makes Jeremiah’s heart ache just by existing in the same space as him. “Can I touch you again?”

Everything feels even more beautiful and right when Jeremiah’s hand wraps around him again and Bruce’s fingers dig into his back until Bruce starts to shake, his hot face pressing into the crook of Jeremiah’s neck. 

“Jeremiah, Jeremiah, Jeremiah.”

Jeremiah’s never going to get sick of hearing Bruce call his name.

x-x-x

Bruce had come over with coffee. Bruce had come to see him without talking about the generators at all. Bruce had asked if this counted as a date.

Jeremiah wouldn’t dare to try to hold back the smile that broke out across his face.

They hold hands and they drink coffee and they kiss and kiss, until hands start to wander and touches grow bolder and Jeremiah finally finds himself in the intoxicating grip of another dream coming to life as he kneels between Bruce’s legs. Bruce’s eyes are locked on him and Bruce’s hands are in his hair and Bruce’s cock is in his mouth and Jeremiah reels from those three things alone. He cannot help but dig a hand into his pants to touch himself as he does everything that he can to turn Bruce into a pretty mess.

“Jeremiah, you’re taking such good care of me,” Bruce moans, and Jeremiah lurches at the sudden flood of heat in his veins. “You’re making me feel so good. I’m close. Don’t stop, Jeremiah, don’t stop.” Bruce’s hands clench tighter and he starts to tremble. “Please, Mister Valeska, please,” he whines, and Jeremiah falls to pieces, coming with his hand on his cock and his mouth full of Bruce. 

x-x-x

He’s watching Bruce touch himself, and it’s only because Bruce looks so pretty with his hand on his cock that he’s able to keep from surging forward and taking over immediately. Bruce is flushed, not used to being so openly on display, and Jeremiah is going to reward him for his ravishing bravery after he’s gotten to watch exactly what Bruce likes to do to himself in order to come.

It starts out slow and steady, just like he touches Jeremiah, but as time wears on and his flush darkens and his breaths begin to catch his movement becomes a little more frantic, a little more like what Jeremiah is used to doing to himself.

His gaze timidly darts up, he catches Jeremiah’s eyes. Bruce closes his eyes and shudders. When he next exhales his lips move without sound, but Jeremiah knows the shapes that Bruce’s lips form when saying his name.

“Bruce, darling, you’re doing so beautifully. You’re so stunning,” Jeremiah encourages, shifting closer. “You don’t have to be shy, not around me. Never around me. Bruce, I adore every single thing that you do, every single sound that you make. Don’t hold yourself back, please.”

Bruce’s eyes flutter open hazily.

“Jeremiah,” he calls softly. “Jeremiah.”

Jeremiah leans in to kiss him and Bruce shudders and whines as he presses against him, lips parting with a needy sigh at the slight swipe of Jeremiah’s tongue. Jeremiah lays his hand over Bruce’s, feeling Bruce’s hot skin between the slots of his fingers, and he can feel more than hear the whisper of his name before Bruce murmurs, “I want to see you, too. Please?”

“Of course, darling, of course.”

His fumbling hands remove his shirt and tie, unbuckle his belt, unzip his slacks. Bruce watches, hand still on his cock but no longer moving. When Jeremiah is finally naked Bruce holds up both arms, a silent request for an embrace, and Jeremiah leans into him eagerly.

They kiss and kiss, and slowly Bruce begins to lean back against the bed while Jeremiah closely follows. Bruce’s hands are in his hair, then on his shoulders, then grazing down his sides. Bruce’s legs spread wider and Jeremiah settles fully against him, blood running hot at the feeling of Bruce’s cock pressed against his own.

“Jeremiah, please, touch me.”

He obeys without a second thought, a hand delving between them to wrap around them both. 

Bruce gasps and shudders and lurches underneath him, back arcing and legs shaking. 

“Mister Valeska.”

—Mister Valeska, daddy, daddy, please, daddy—

“My precious, darling boy.” Jeremiah feels drunk with sentiment. He wants them to come at the same time. He wants Bruce’s stomach to be covered in pearly spunk. He wants to lick it off of his skin and then kiss it into his mouth. He wants Bruce to want everything just as much as he does. “I want to take care of you. Can I?” Their breaths hitch in tandem as his grip tightens. “Not just like this. All the time. I want—” Daddy, daddy, daddy. “I want to treat you the way you should be treated and love you the way you should be loved.” Completely and utterly and eternally. “Will you let me?”

“Loved?” Bruce’s voice wavers, and Jeremiah only wants to love him even more in response to the hesitancy that he can hear. 

“Yes. Can I, Bruce, please?”

Please, please, please.

“Yes.” Bruce’s arms come up around him, holding him close as he presses his face into the crook of Jeremiah’s neck. “Yes, of course you can Jeremiah.”

They come together, mouths overcrowded with each other’s names, and it feels like the pinnacle of romance. 

x-x-x

They’d actually gone out of the bunker for their date, today. Jeremiah had somehow managed to swallow down his nervousness—perhaps partially in thanks to the mimosas that he’d had at brunch—and he’d been quick to grab the bill when their server set it down because he could see Bruce reaching for it and no, no, no, that wouldn’t do at all.

“My treat,” he says as he slips his credit card into the folder. “I insist, darling.”

Bruce looks up at Jeremiah from under his eyelashes—and by now Jeremiah is absolutely sure that just like when Bruce says ‘Mister Valeska’ on purpose Bruce knows exactly what that does to him, but also Bruce does these things to him because he knows, so Jeremiah is winning all across the board, really—and he folds his hands in front of himself.

“I’m not used to being treated,” he admits, sounding touched. In the back of his mind Jeremiah can kind of understand why such a thing might be an unusual occurrence for him, but he is also too stubborn in his desire to provide for Bruce in all ways to think too hard about it. Paying for dates would be a drop in a bucket to them both, but he’d said that he wanted to take care of Bruce all the time, and he’d meant it.

And he was going to prove it.

“You’ll become accustomed to it eventually.”

“Will I?” Bruce’s smile gains a playful edge, and underneath the table Jeremiah can feel the toe of his shoe start to graze up the inside of Jeremiah’s calf. “Do you plan on treating me often, Mister Valeska?”

“Yes.” He manages to keep a straight face somehow, but his heart begins to race in a familiar way, even after Bruce’s foot has retreated back to his side of the table. 

“How very considerate of you.”

“For you, my darling, I can be very, very considerate,” he promises, and he watches in bliss as a flush begins to tint Bruce’s cheeks. He reaches over the table to link their hands together, because he’s found that sometimes it was the gentler, less carnal touches that really made Bruce lose his cool and Jeremiah adores that something as simple as holding hands can make his darling’s composure melt away. Bruce grips back at his fingers and Jeremiah’s heart predictably starts to flutter. 

“I know,” Bruce tells him softly. “You always take such excellent care of me.”

If Jeremiah were not so protective of what was his he’d make a move before going back to the bunker, but the idea that someone might see Bruce while he was prettily flushed or hear the way Bruce spoke Jeremiah’s name when he was beginning to feel overwhelmed sparks something selfish inside of him.

No one should see or hear Bruce when he was like that. No one but Jeremiah, who would offer Bruce the whole world if he could.

He is evidentially not the only one holding himself back from making a scene in public, because when they do arrive back at the bunker not even an hour later as soon as the door is shut behind them Bruce is on him, kissing and licking into his mouth like he cannot get enough of Jeremiah in the exact same way that Jeremiah cannot get enough of him.

The stumble along the hallways, stripping off and discarding their jackets without a care. The office is much closer than the bedroom and that is where they gravitate. Jeremiah pulls Bruce inside and Bruce laughs softly against his mouth, hands coming up to rest on Jeremiah’s shoulders and guiding him back, back, around his desk.

“You’re such a gentleman,” Bruce murmurs against his mouth. “And you really do take excellent care of me. Will you let me take care of you?”

“Anything you want,” Jeremiah promises. “Anything at all. Ask, and it’s yours.”

Bruce presses a kiss to his cheek, hands coming between them to undo Jeremiah’s belt and pull down his zipper.

“Sit down.”

Jeremiah collapses into his chair and watches, entranced, as Bruce edges between himself and the desk. Bruce leans down to kiss him once more, then he leans further, hands bracing on Jeremiah’s thighs as Bruce kneels between his open legs.

Jeremiah has definitely had fantasies about this exact situation a few dozen times. 

Bruce’s mouth is tentative, warm, soft. He kisses a path up the side of Jeremiah’s cock, looking up from under his eyelashes in the way that ruins Jeremiah every single time he does it. When he takes Jeremiah into his mouth Jeremiah threads his hands into Bruce’s soft hair and fights the urge to buck all the way inside as Bruce sighs and moans around him like he’s been dreaming of this, too. 

Bruce’s eyes flutter shut as he sucks Jeremiah’s cock, hesitancy melting away as Jeremiah praises and adores him in equal measure, unable to keep quiet when the love of his life is knelt before him.

“Bruce,” Jeremiah lovingly utters, fingers twisting gently, hips making aborted motions that he can barely stifle. Bruce looks up at him from under his eyelashes and Jeremiah feels the muscles in his stomach clench. 

“Bruce, darling, can I come in your mouth?” 

Bruce nods, humming, and Jeremiah starts to curl over him as Bruce takes him deeper, the slick sounds of his mouth unforgettable and sexy.

“Precious boy, darling boy, my boy,” Jeremiah waxes lyrically. “I love you so much.”

Bruce makes a high sound, like a whine, and Jeremiah has to hear him make it again.

“I love you, I love you,” he says as he comes, fingers twisting tighter into Bruce’s hair. “Swallow it down, Bruce,” he slurs as his grip goes slack, feeling reverential. “It’s all for you, all for you.”

Bruce leans back. Jeremiah watches Bruce’s throat bob as he swallows.

“Thank you, Mister Valeska,” he says, voice rough, gaze dreamy.

Jeremiah bites his lip to stop himself from whimpering. 

x-x-x

“Jeremiah,” Bruce moans, clenching around two of Jeremiah’s fingers as Jeremiah sucks Bruce’s cock into his mouth. “Jeremiah, Jeremiah—ah—aah.”

He’s so sweet, so perfect, so hot around Jeremiah’s fingers. 

“Precious darling.” He kisses Bruce’s right thigh, then the left, as he adds another finger. “My darling.” Daddy’s going to take such good care of you. “Da—” He stops himself abruptly, nearly biting his tongue and pressing a messy kiss to Bruce’s hip to recover. “Darling. I’m going to give you everything you need. Do you trust me?”

“I do,” Bruce tells him ardently. “I do, Jeremiah. I love you.”

Jeremiah shudders, pulling his fingers back and settling himself in the cradle of Bruce’s thighs.

He slides into Bruce; heart tripping, thoughts racing, everything about him burning hot and aching. Bruce reaches towards him, his hands folding around Jeremiah’s neck.

“Such a sweet boy,” Jeremiah cannot help but say. “Such a clever, precious thing. I love you more than anything, Bruce.”

He leans in for a kiss and Bruce’s arms wrap tighter around him as his legs on either side of Jeremiah shift. Bruce’s movements are all heady instincts and natural grace; completely without fault. 

“So perfect,” Jeremiah murmurs against Bruce’s lips as he moves. Slow. Deep. Intimate. Underneath him Bruce shudders. “I always knew you would be.” 

“Jeremiah.” Bruce’s fingers press hard into his back. He’s starry-eyed and so, so beautiful. Even more beautiful than when he’d been bathed in the blue light of the generator. On either side of Jeremiah Bruce’s legs begin to tremble. “Jeremiah, you feel so good.”

A shiver travels up Jeremiah’s spine and the motion of his hips sharpens. Bruce’s mouth opens with a soft gasp. When Jeremiah does it against he moans Jeremiah’s name. He quickens the pace, and underneath him Bruce begins to squirm.

“Jeremiah, Jeremiah.”

—daddy, daddy, daddy—

“My darling boy, you’re my everything. You’re always so good for me.”

Always so good for daddy. 

Bruce comes on his cock, breathtaking in his loveliness, and afterwards Jeremiah holds him close and pets his hair as Bruce falls asleep with his head tucked against Jeremiah’s shoulder.

“I love you, Bruce,” he whispers, pressing a kiss into Bruce’s curls. “Daddy loves you so much.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christ, this chapter was really difficult for some reason but!!! It is done!!! And now I may rest in peace for, like, five whole minutes.

Jeremiah wakes up alone in bed, already somewhat despondent from nearly two full days passing without seeing Bruce in person. Texting and phone calls just weren’t the same, but they’d both been too busy yesterday for a visit. Eight hours ago he’d called Bruce to bid him goodnight and wish him sweet dreams. Eight hours ago he’d spoken softly to Bruce about his day at Bruce’s request, listening fondly to his darling’s sleepy voice and his muted yawns and his quiet answers, until Bruce had stopped responding. Jeremiah had ended the call wishing that he’d been there to watch Bruce fall asleep; to brush his hair out of his face and make sure that he was comfortable and warm. 

In the present Jeremiah presses his face into the pillow and sighs, wanting more than anything for Bruce to be beside him so that Jeremiah could wrap him up in his arms before waking him with soft, adoring kisses.

His phone buzzes.

His heart flutters as he snatches it off of his bedside table.

‘Good morning,’ Bruce’s text greets him, followed by a little heart emoji that Jeremiah feels stupidly thrilled by. ‘Thanks for calling last night. It was nice to fall asleep to the sound of your voice.’

‘Good morning, darling,’ he texts back, wishing he could send a kiss through a phone. ‘It was my pleasure. I’d do it any time.’

‘You’re so sweet, Jeremiah. I love you.’

Jeremiah covers his warm face with his palm, nearly losing his composure over a simple text. When his hand drops away he sees that Bruce has sent another message. 

‘Pick a colour.’ 

‘Black,’ he responds; Bruce’s black coat and black gloves and black sweaters and black everything leaping to the forefront of his mind.

‘Pattern or no pattern?’

Jeremiah’s fingers briefly pause over his phone’s screen.

‘What is this for?’

‘It’s a present for you, but I want your input to make sure you like it.’ 

Jeremiah smiles down at the text. Bruce was so sweet, picking something out for him. He wonders what it will be. Colour and pattern likely indicated fabric of some kind, perhaps clothing; tie, pocket square, sweater, socks? Whatever it is, Jeremiah is sure he’ll love it.

‘Surprise me.’

x-x-x

The gift was meant for him, but not meant for him to wear.

Jeremiah is one hundred percent okay with that. 

Bruce is so pretty laid out against his sheets, bare except for the black underwear that he’d specifically picked out for Jeremiah to see him in. The lacework pattern of the briefs is sensual, more overtly seductive than Jeremiah would have expected of his precious darling boy, and even if Jeremiah didn’t already know what Bruce looked like naked it would leave almost nothing to the imagination. Jeremiah hovers over him, still in his pants and an unbuttoned dress shirt, too preoccupied with looking at and memorizing the sight of Bruce to start touching or to finish undressing yet. Bruce wanted Jeremiah to see him in these. Jeremiah needs to savour the sight of him before he rips them off of Bruce because he can tell his self-control is shredding into nothing but he doesn’t want to seem ungrateful about his special present because then Bruce might not do this again and that would be absolutely tragic. 

“Darling, you’re so gorgeous,” he rasps, fingers itching to press against Bruce’s dick and rub him through the briefs until Bruce is bucking up into his hand and squirming, until Bruce’s voice starts cracking with need and Jeremiah’s palm is soaked with precum. It’s unlikely that he would actually have the self-restraint necessary to tease Bruce for longer than half a minute, but Jeremiah can dream. “And so good to me.” Maybe, the next time that Bruce wants to buy sexy underwear, Jeremiah can come with him.

Maybe next time Jeremiah can be in the fitting room with him.

Bruce’s face is flushed, he averts his eyes shyly, he licks his lips.

“Jeremiah,” he starts softly. “Can I… Can I call you something? I don’t want to ruin to mood later if you don’t actually like it.”

“You can call me anything, Bruce. Anything you want.”

Your lover, your toy, your sweetheart, your bitch, your everything.

Your future husband.

Literally anything.

“Jeremiah,” he says, face going redder, he shuts his eyes and reaches out to grip one of Jeremiah’s hands. “I—This is kind of embarrassing.”

This coming from the person who called Jeremiah ‘Mister Valeska’ because he knew exactly how Jeremiah would react to it. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, Bruce.” Jeremiah brings Bruce’s hand up to his mouth, smothering his knuckles and fingers with light kisses. “You must know that I’d never hold anything against you. I love you. I want to make you happy.” His lips trail further down as his hand stretches Bruce’s arm out, tracing a path over Bruce’s wrist, over his pulse, along the soft skin of his inner arm. “You mean the world to me, darling. Please, open your eyes and tell me what you want?” He draws back, holding Bruce’s hand tight. “I promise I’ll do my best to give it to you.”

Bruce’s doe eyes drift open, he’s still visibly flustered. He’s so lovely, a waking dream, and Jeremiah can’t believe how lucky he is.

Bruce’s lips part.

He breathes in a shallow breath.

When he exhales, his voice is nothing more than a whisper.

“Daddy.”

Above him Jeremiah freezes, breath stolen from his lungs, hand clutching Bruce’s as his mind whirrs, repeating that one word over and over and over as it so often does until he’s almost certain that he misheard, that he’s dreaming, that Bruce had spoken something else and Jeremiah’s mind had twisted the sounds into something he longs to hear. Bruce is looking up at him, flushed, bashful; his eyes hesitantly rove over Jeremiah’s face, searching for a reaction. It is only when Jeremiah inhales shakily that he realizes he’d stopped breathing. 

He starts to burn.

“Bruce,” his voice is rough, yearning, hoarse with a sudden flood of desire. “Say it again,” he pleads, demands, begs. “Please say it again, precious boy.”

Bruce licks his lips. Bruce squeezes his hand. Bruce is starry-eyed and brilliant and Jeremiah would look at him forever if he could.

“Daddy,” Bruce says again, voice hushed but more confident. 

In the blink of an eye Jeremiah is upon him.

He cups Bruce’s face in his hands and it’s like their first kiss all over again; fervently eager, desperately hot, better than anything that Jeremiah had dreamed of and even more wonderful because Bruce reacts in kind, reaching for him and threading his hands into Jeremiah’s hair as he sighs and tilts his head to deepen the kiss. One of Jeremiah’s hands drags down his cheek, his neck, his chest, skims along his ribcage before trailing back up. He licks into Bruce’s mouth and the kiss becomes slick. Jeremiah feels feverish, feels wild, feels so incredibly in love and so incredibly happy that he almost can’t believe it.

He softly, gently, worshipfully, takes Bruce’s bottom lip between his teeth and bites. He hears Bruce’s breath hitch. He feels Bruce’s fingers twist in his hair. Bruce shivers underneath him and Jeremiah has to look at him, has to see him, has to drink in the sight of him and relish it. He draws back, thumbs dragging over Bruce’s warm cheeks, watching avidly as Bruce’s eyes flutter partway open to look up at him. 

“Did you know? Is this—is this just for me?” Had Jeremiah been obvious? “Or do—” He’s burning, burning, burning. His mind is spinning, he can hardly concentrate. “Do you really want this?” Does he want it just like Jeremiah wants it, just as much as Jeremiah wants it; are they really that well-matched? Are they really so perfect for each other?

“Jeremiah,” Bruce murmurs, a loving, lovely sigh. His hands gently pet through Jeremiah’s hair. “You always take such excellent care of me, Mister Valeska.” Bruce tilts his chin to plant a soft kiss to Jeremiah’s jaw. “Of course I want this too, daddy.”

Jeremiah shudders; composure fraying completely, control going up in smoke. 

They are so perfect for each other. Of course they are.

Jeremiah crashes into him, somehow more desperate than he’d been before; hot and hard and aching already. Bruce makes a startled sound against his mouth, perhaps having assumed that Jeremiah’s initial intense kissing had marked the beginning as well as the end of his impassioned sentiments as opposed to being the tipping point before a free-fall.

—Of course I want this too, daddy. Of course I want this too, daddy. Daddy, daddy, _daddy_ —

Jeremiah scrambles out of his unbuttoned shirt as he kisses Bruce, then he drags his teeth down Bruce’s neck, then he kisses and licks a path down his chest, trailing lower, lower, until his tongue grazes against the waistband of the underwear that Bruce, his darling boy, had picked out just for him. 

Just for daddy.

Jeremiah fists his hands into the sheets on either side of Bruce’s hips and drags his tongue against his cock, looking up at him intently. Beneath him Bruce jolts and squeaks, unbearably adorable, and Jeremiah wetly sucks at his cock through the underwear, mind racing with thoughts of all that he wants to do. 

—open Bruce up with his fingers and tongue, sit Bruce in his lap and praise him as he fills his darling boy with cock, hold him close and make love to him tenderly before pushing him onto his hands and knees to fuck him hard until Bruce is _screaming_ ‘daddy daddy daddy’—

“Daddy,” Bruce whines, the hand still in Jeremiah’s hair is shaking. Jeremiah moans and sucks at the weeping head of Bruce’s dick, his own underwear growing damp as his cock strains in its confines. “I love you.”

Jeremiah can’t _not_ respond to such a sweet declaration, even if his mind is swirling with ideas of what it might be like to make Bruce come while still wearing his sexy underwear and then seeing how long it would take for him to become aroused again so that Jeremiah could fuck him as soon as he recovers, sinking into him and making him come so hard that his eyes tear up.

Jeremiah pulls back slightly, staring up at him in open adoration. His lips graze against Bruce as he speaks. “I love you too, Bruce.” He presses a kiss to one hip, then the other. “I love you more than anything.” His lips skim up, up, up. He licks into Bruce's mouth and grinds against him, unable to help himself, and beneath him Bruce’s hips begin to rock. If Jeremiah were not so frantic, if Jeremiah’s mind was not already overloaded with things that he wants to do right now even though there is no way that they can get through it all tonight—make sweet love to Bruce face to face so that they can kiss and Jeremiah can watch and memorize the movement of Bruce’s lips as he calls him ‘daddy’, fuck Bruce and tug on his hair and come inside of him to the sound of Bruce telling him how good his daddy makes him feel, Bruce over him, Bruce under him, Bruce desperately rocking in his lap, Bruce on his knees, Jeremiah on his knees, Bruce making a mess of his sexy underwear because Jeremiah knows exactly how to take care of him—he probably wouldn’t mind if they came like this; kissing and humping and not even naked.

But Bruce is beautiful and perfect and is sucking Jeremiah’s tongue into his mouth and his hands are running through Jeremiah’s hair and when he pulls back to take in a breath he whispers, “you feel so good, daddy,” and how can Jeremiah possibly be expected to _not_ go absolutely crazy when every wish and dream and fantasy he’s ever had is coming true directly because of Bruce?

His hands rove up and down Bruce’s sides as he presses a kiss to Bruce’s cheek, jaw, neck, before his teeth begin to skim over skin and he feels Bruce tilt his head back. He bites and sucks firmly, unable to help himself, and Bruce’s hands twist tighter in his hair as blood is drawn to the surface of the skin; a vivid bruise in the making.

A beautiful mark for a beautiful boy. For Jeremiah’s precious darling. 

Once he starts biting and leaving hickeys he can’t seem to stop. He nips at Bruce’s shoulders and collarbones, he sucks at his nipples and grazes his teeth against them until Bruce is lurching beneath him, he sinks his teeth into the skin over his heart, drunk on the notion of leaving Bruce with irrefutable proof that Jeremiah’s love could be consuming and wolfish as well as tender and sweet. One of Jeremiah’s palms trails down to grind against Bruce’s spit-slick, still-clothed dick as his mouth leaves pink blotches and teeth marks all across Bruce’s torso. 

Bruce rocks up against him and arcs his back and his hands pull Jeremiah closer instead of pushing him away, so eager for everything that Jeremiah wants to give him, so desperate to be marked, so hard and slick that Jeremiah loses even more control of himself because Bruce _wants_ this, _wants everything_ , wants it just like Jeremiah does.

“Daddy,” Bruce whines, and whatever else he means to say transitions into a high, wordless sound when Jeremiah strokes his cock.

“That’s right, darling,” he croons, laying another kiss upon the deepening mark over Bruce’s heart before his lips trail upwards again. “Daddy’s here, daddy’s going to give you everything you want.” He kisses Bruce and grinds his palm down against him. “Daddy’s going to make you come so hard, precious boy.” His fingers slip into the waistband of Bruce’s underwear and, at long last, begin dragging them down. Bruce shifts, raising his hips to make his undressing easier, and once they’re partway down his thighs Bruce’s hands come between them to hastily strip Jeremiah of his pants. They kiss and kiss and then they’re both naked and Jeremiah’s hand trails up the inside of Bruce’s thigh and slides underneath him, and then he feels warm slick against his fingertips.

Bruce’s hands settle on his back. Bruce spreads his legs wider. Bruce kisses his cheek and says, “I was thinking about you earlier, daddy,” and there is no way, simply no possible way that—just like when he looks at Jeremiah from underneath his eyelashes, just like when he bites his lip, just like when he calls Jeremiah ‘Mister Valeska’, just like when he does any little endearing thing that Jeremiah gets caught up and obsessed with—Bruce isn’t totally aware of exactly what this is doing to Jeremiah.

It spurs him on like nothing else.

“Next time.” Jeremiah slides two fingers into Bruce, watching avidly as Bruce bites his lower lip and flutters his eyelashes and does all the little things that make Jeremiah yearn and want and burn. “I want to watch. Will you let me watch you open yourself up for me, darling?” He curls his fingers and Bruce rocks down against his hand.

“I will, I promise.”

“Such a good boy,” Jeremiah praises, withdrawing only so that he can drive a third finger inside. “My precious darling. Tell me what you want, tell me what you need. I’ll give it to you, Bruce. I’ll give you anything, everything.”

“I want you. I need you. Just you.” Bruce’s hands cup his face, and his expression is so tender that it makes Jeremiah feel like melting. “Just you, Jeremiah,” he finishes, voice soft. Jeremiah’s heart aches, as if too-full from the amount of love stuffed into it.

Jeremiah leans in to ply him with another small portion of the innumerable kisses that Bruce deserves and Bruce sighs happily against his mouth. They shift and move together. Bruce turns, settling on his hands and knees. Jeremiah stretches over him, his chest skimming against Bruce’s back. He presses kisses to Bruce’s shoulders and neck, his hands drag around to Bruce’s front, nails playfully trailing down his chest. If he had more self-control maybe he’d make Bruce wait just so that he could tease him a little, if he weren’t already so full of desire maybe he’d make Bruce tell Jeremiah exactly how he wants it or beg, if he weren’t desperate and in love and keyed-up maybe he’d start slow as they usually do. 

But he is too struck, too restless, too full of devotion; that he’s been able to control himself for this long is frankly nothing short of a mystery that is likely directly linked to how his heart beats for Bruce and his mind spins for Bruce and his soul yearns for Bruce.

His nuzzles his face into the crook of Bruce’s neck as one of his hands trails down, skirting over Bruce’s hip, slipping between them. He kisses and playfully nips as he lines himself up. In one smooth movement he is fully immersed.

Bruce is radiant and warm and makes such a sweet, muted sound as he’s filled up. Jeremiah, whose patience has burnt out and whose aspirations to turn Bruce into a pretty mess are irrepressible, barely manages the coordination to press another wet kiss to Bruce’s neck before he begins to move.

It’s a faster start than they’re used to with each other; so accustomed to the buildup, to the gentle affection, to the near-worshipful touches Jeremiah was so fond of lavishing Bruce with. Jeremiah presses his forehead into the crook of Bruce’s neck and wraps one hand around Bruce’s cock while the other is braced on the bed, a few of his splayed fingers overlapping with Bruce’s, and fucks into him hard. Underneath him Bruce whines and sways, driven forward by the impact of Jeremiah’s hips before pushing himself back to meet him again, again. Jeremiah grinds his palm against the wet head of Bruce’s dick and digs his teeth into Bruce’s shoulder and listens avidly as Bruce gasps and shudders.

“Daddy,” he cries, collapsing onto his elbows and arcing his back. After he falls away Jeremiah can see the imprint of his teeth on Bruce’s skin and it makes him feel almost feral. “Daddy, please. I want what you want, don’t hold back.”

Jeremiah twists a hand into Bruce’s hair and tugs, lightly at first—just to be sure, because he couldn’t bear to do something that Bruce didn’t actually like—and then a second time, harder, when Bruce clenches down on him and makes a high, needy sound.

Jeremiah’s voice, when he finally finds it, is rough.

“Precious darling boy, daddy loves you so much. You know that, don’t you?” He pulls Bruce’s hair and rams into him, muscles beginning to tense. “You feel it, don’t you?”

“I do, daddy, I do. I love you too.”

“I know you do, darling, I know you do,” his voice cracks. His grip on Bruce’s hair is white-knuckled. He wants to see Bruce’s face. He wants to kiss Bruce as he comes. He wants to watch Bruce’s eyelashes flutter and his mouth fall open and his expression shatter into the true openness that it always did when Jeremiah stripped him down and laid him bare. He’s winding so tight. Bruce feels so good. Pulling away is torment.

The questioning, warbling sound that Bruce makes when Jeremiah retreats is agony.

Murmured reassurances, instinctive and thoughtless, fall from his mouth as his hands grip at Bruce to flip him onto his back. He grasps Bruce’s hips and settles between his toned legs, and Bruce’s hands rise up to wrap around him as Jeremiah falls into him again.

Bruce is so beautiful, is so flushed, is marked so obviously, is looking up at him as if he would give Jeremiah the world if he could.

“I’m close, daddy. You make me feel so good, you—” His breath catches, his eyes flutter shut, his expression pinches as his body lurches. “You— _daddy,_ you take such excellent—” His mouth ceases and eyes snap back open, gaze unfocussed and dreamy.

“I promise I’ll always take care of you, darling,” Jeremiah rasps.

Bruce’s hands dig into his hair. Bruce licks his lips. Bruce sighs.

“Thank you, daddy.”

And he reels like a livewire when Jeremiah gracelessly brings a hand between them to pet at his cock. 

“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” he cries as he comes, slicking Jeremiah’s palm, only stopping when Jeremiah ducks in to kiss him. Bruce’s legs lock around his hips as Jeremiah grinds into him, the both of them becoming shuddering messes sharing sloppy, slick kisses and grasping at each other urgently. Their hands run through hair and over necks and shoulders and press against bruises and bitemarks until they begin to go slack. They breathe into each other’s mouth through parted, unmoving lips, sharing air just as they share everything else as their racing thoughts and heartbeats begin to settle.

Jeremiah smears one last uncoordinated kiss to the side of Bruce’s mouth before he falls beside him and Bruce turns onto his side, shifting closer, gripping one of Jeremiah’s hands with his own as he drags a foot forward to rest between Jeremiah’s ankles.

It’s affectionate and sentimental and it makes Jeremiah’s chest feel tight even though everything else about him is relaxed. He holds Bruce’s hand and brings it up to his mouth, laying a kiss upon the back of it as Bruce watches him through eyes that are half-closed.

“Bruce?”

Jeremiah intertwines their fingers, full of contentment.

“Yes?”

“Did you honestly think you might ruin the mood, or were you playing at being shy?”

Bruce’s lips twitch, a charming little smile, there and gone in the blink of an eye.

“Just because I suspect that you might like something doesn’t mean I know anything for certain.” He lightly squeezes Jeremiah’s hand. “I do love when I turn out to be right, though.” The word choice would be teasing if Bruce didn’t sound so wrecked as he said it. Jeremiah is not-so-distantly proud of himself. “Especially when it means I have a chance to live out a few of the fantasies that I would never tell you about if we didn’t both want the same things.”

“Oh?” His voice cracks, and he’d be embarrassed but Bruce is already fully aware of how stunned and starry-eyed Jeremiah is, constantly, whenever Bruce so much as smiles at him, so really there’s no need to wish he were more suave because Bruce obviously loves him as is. “Such as?” 

Bruce hums lowly, looking up at Jeremiah pointedly from under his eyelashes as his foot trails a few inches up to settle between Jeremiah’s calves, his bending knee nudging between Jeremiah’s own. 

“Oh, you know, just a rehash of the first day we met,” Bruce says lightly, as if the very idea of Bruce wanting Jeremiah from the start of their acquaintance isn’t enough to fill Jeremiah with molten heat even though his body is currently spent. 

“How so?”

“It can start the same; you all stubborn and unyielding when you’re focusing your attention on people who aren’t me, then you valiantly deciding to accompany me.” Bruce smiles at him sweetly. “But afterwards I come back to the bunker with you instead of us going our separate ways, and you promise that daddy will always look after me, and it ends with you fucking me against your drafting table and telling me what a good boy I am.”

“We can do that,” Jeremiah manages, breathless. “We can definitely do that.”

Bruce laughs softly and presses a kiss to Jeremiah’s chin. 

“I love you, Jeremiah.”

Jeremiah holds him close, pressing a kiss into Bruce’s curls, to his forehead, to his cheek.

“I love you too, Bruce, my darling.”

He kisses Bruce’s mouth and Bruce presses against him enthusiastically, hand winding into Jeremiah’s hair, knee shifting further up between Jeremiah’s thighs. 

The night has just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious; Bruce has slipped on Versace lace briefs, which is the ultimate sexy rich-boy underwear as far as I'm concerned.


End file.
